Relinquishment
by Minttown1
Summary: “Sara wondered what culture first used funerals, and for some reason assumed that Grissom would know. She would have asked, but she did not know where he was sitting.” Character death.


TITLE: Relinquishment

AUTHOR: Minttown1/Amber

RATING: R  
  
CATEGORY: SRA  
  
SPOILERS: none  
  
SUMMARY: "Sara wondered what culture first used funerals, and for some reason assumed that Grissom would know. She would have asked, but she did not know where he was sitting." Character death.

ARCHIVAL: Why, of course!  
  
DISCLAIMER: I wrote the bulk of this story sitting in various classrooms in an overcrowded public high school where there was a drug bust two days ago. So, no, I don't own CSI or the associated characters and I'm not profiting from this story in any monetary way. The final lyrics are from the song "Hear You Me" by Jimmy Eat World.

DEDICATION: To Devanie, for liking the story and getting me to finish the story and for convincing me the story was good enough to post. And for naming the story. That too.

And to Rachel, because without our conversation I never would have been able to finish writing this story. "Head up."

~*~*~*~*~

Sara wondered what culture first used funerals, and for some reason assumed that Grissom would know. She would have asked, but she did not know where he was sitting.

She hated being there.

An absurd oversized picture from at least five years ago.

__

Before you even knew him.

A box that cost thousands of dollars that had a dead body in it.

__

Not just a dead body. Quit trying to fool yourself. It's Nick's body.

A room full of people. None of them knew each other. None of them wanted to entertain each other, but even here, there was a pressure to be "on". She watched as Nick's friends and family took turns talking about him. Stories and observations that she would have been interested in knowing to tease him about three days ago. She could not see the point in finding all this out now.

Warrick was sitting beside her, sobbing so hard she could see his teeth. She wanted to say something or do something, but she knew that Nick was the only one of them who would be able to do anything. Grissom would probably know what to do but would never do it, and Catherine would not know what to say despite being willing to help. Sara was lost on both.

Catherine had been the one to tell her about Nick. Sara knew what to say on the phone so that Catherine would hang up. Yes, she was fine, and thank you for calling. But she knew she was not fine, so she drove to Grissom's house. He opened the door, but he was distracted by the blinking light on the answering machine. He did not know yet, he had no idea. Nick's dead. There for the first time she cried about it, standing in the doorway with Grissom's arms around her and her wet face buried in his chest.

Now she was sitting in a funeral home, in a long black skirt and a dark buttoned blouse with embroidery on the collar. An outfit that Nick would have liked to see her wear on a date with a man that he could tease her about. She was going to miss his friendship.

She was startled by Grissom's hand on her shoulder and looked up. The funeral home was nearly empty.

"Did I fall asleep?" she asked, horrified. She would hope that she would not do that, but she also knew that she had not slept since Catherine's call.

"No," he said, pulling her gently to her feet. She did not seem steady when he let go of her hands. "Do you want to just come with me to the cemetery?"

She nodded, thankful that she would not have to drive. Nick's family had chosen a cemetery fairly far from Las Vegas, blaming the city for his death. He placed his hand lightly at the small of her back and led her out to his car, where he opened the door and watched her sit down before walking around to get in.

They drove quietly for a few minutes. Sara stared out the window, watching the world go by. Nothing had changed for the people they passed.

"It's not right," she said suddenly. She pressed her fingers against her lips, then moved them to the silver chain around her left wrist. He could usually tell when to let her vent and when she needed him to say something, so he let her continue. "Nick was so...such a good person. Sounds trite, but he was. And most people, even people he passed every day, they won't know he's gone. Everything keeps going exactly the same."

"Well, it won't be the same for you," he said carefully.

"I know. It will be worse." She was surprisingly calm, considering what she was saying. "I'm supposed to say that my life was richer for having known him, but it just hurts too much."

"I know," he said quietly.

She turned away from him and let her hair fall in front of her face. If he had to know she was crying, he did not have to see too. Tears always made her angry. After a few minutes, she cleared her throat.  
  
"You know when this really became real for me?" She continued without waiting for an answer. "I actually picked up the phone to call Nick and talk to him about this. Can you believe that? I wanted to talk to Nick about how upset I was, how upset I was because he died. Does that make any sense?"  
  
"Yeah, it does." His voice was thick, and she turned toward him. "I was looking for a book last night, and I remembered that he borrowed it while he was working on a case months ago. I was angry until I remembered." She watched his hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. "Damnit." He suddenly pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and got out of the car. She watched him as he leaned against the car, facing away from her. "I'm sorry," he said finally.

She opened her door and slowly walked over to him. She touched his hand for a moment, then brushed her hair back from her face. The heat was terrible. "It's okay."

He turned to face her. "Nick never should have been in Las Vegas, he never should have been doing this job."  
  
"Grissom, it's what he wanted to do."  
  
"I knew he shouldn't have been on that case. I wanted Warrick on it, but he asked to work with Catherine so I let him. I knew better."  
  
"This isn't your fault."  
  
"I know." He checked his watch and glanced into the car, but made no move to get in.

"We don't have to go," she said quietly.

He shook his head. "No, I said I'd take you."  
  
"I'm not sure I want to go. That's not Nick anymore. And we already went to the service. I don't care about the burial."  
  
"You don't care?"

"There's nothing that I can see or that anyone can say to help me or give me any closure. I can always go home and read the twenty-third Psalm to myself."

He looked at her. "If you mean that."  


"I do."

"I don't want to go either," he admitted. "I didn't even want to go to the funeral today." She was not surprised.

"Do you want to go for a drive?" she asked. "I mean, if you're sure you don't want to go to the cemetery."

"I'm sure. And I'd like that." He offered her a sad smile and walked around the car to open the door for her.

She watched as he got in beside her. He started the car again and turned the radio on. After they had been driving for a little while, he asked, "Where do you want to go?"  
  
She did not answer, and he glanced toward her. She was sleeping quietly. He turned the radio down and continued to drive, just enjoying having her beside him and trying not to think.

He was not used to driving where there was nothing along the road, and there had not been for a while. The sudden appearance of a small building beside the road made him slow the car, and he finally pulled into the gravel parking lot.

"Sara," he said softly. She did not stir, so he traced his hand along her arm. "Do you want some ice cream?"  
  
She opened her eyes and stared at him. "The questions you ask me sometimes..."  
  
"I seem to recall you asking once if I wanted to sleep with you."  
  
"I seem to recall you not answering."

"Ice cream?"  
  
She laughed, and he felt relieved. "If you're buying."  
  
He smiled back. His hand had never left her arm. His mind flashed back to the day Nick died, to holding Sara in the doorway, how it felt to know that she came to him and that his presence was a comfort to her. Also, with some amount of guilt, came the thought of how much he enjoyed just holding her. "I'm buying."

He let his hand slip from her arm to the space between the seats and found his wallet. She looked out the window. Small stand, gravel parking lot, a few picnic tables. She had never been here before. "How long did I sleep?" she asked, stretching her long arms out in front of her.  
  
"Not long. Forty-five minutes, maybe."  
  
She nodded, still looking dazed. "I want something extravagant here."

"Extravagant ice cream?"

"Yeah. Well, not really. I want a banana split."  
  
"That's extravagant?"

"Compared to the cup of vanilla with a little plastic spoon that you're planning on getting."

He wondered how she knew. "Order whatever you want, then," he said, getting out of the car. She followed him and looped her arm through his as they approached the counter.

After they ordered and paid they stood there, Sara refusing to relinquish her hold on his arm. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"For the ice cream?"

She wondered if he was really misunderstanding her or only pretending to. She has wondered that more than once. "No, for this. For offering me a ride then for not making me go, for letting me sleep." They grabbed their orders as they appeared at the window. "And for the ice cream."

The air was finally cooling somewhat, and they sat at one of the wooden tables outside, silently enjoying each other's company.

Sara felt a sudden pang, and the real reason they were there came back to her again. She pushed her dish away on the table in front of her and felt herself start to cry.

Grissom pushed his away as well and put his arms around her, pulling her gently to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shirt. She had not meant to cry in front of him again, yet there she was. He could feel her entire body shake with her sobs, and he wished there were more that he could do for her.

"I'm going to miss him so much," she managed to say. "He was my first friend here other than you. Now he's never going to get married or raise a child or even watch another movie."

He ran his hand along her spine, feeling the tension in her back. "Nick had a really hard life, hun, some things I can't even imagine. He's definitely in a better place now, if you believe in that." He wondered if he really did.

"I do." She could feel tears burning as they slid down her face. "But I still wish he was here with me, and I don't care how selfish that is."

"I know." He had no idea what to say beyond that.

"It's really wrong that he's gone," she continued. "Like, he never finished that hideous paint-by-number he was doing. I had this stupid thought, that he couldn't be dead until that thing was finished."

"It was of whales, right?"

She giggled then, and it startled him. "They were boats, Grissom."

"Not that way Nick painted them." He said it fondly; it was not an insult.

"I know." She sighed. The grief was coming in waves, but right at that moment she felt okay. Another car pulled into the small lot and she reluctantly moved away from him. "We should go. I work tonight."  
  
"So do I. Do you want this?" he asked, indicating what remained of her melted ice cream.  
  
She shook her head and he picked up their dishes to throw away while she got into his car. When he joined her she asked, "Did you call me 'hun'?"

"When?"  
  
"Just a minute ago, at the table."  
  
"Yeah, I think I did. Sorry."  
  
"No, it's okay. I liked it. I was just surprised."  
  
"So was I," he admitted.

She leaned back into the seat. "Are you sorry we didn't go to the cemetery?"  
  
"No, but are you?"

She shook her head. "I think talking to someone who knew him is more helpful than listening to some stranger pray with his dead body at our feet. That sounds really callous, I know." She stopped. "I never asked, but are you okay?"  
  
He thought about it, then answered, "I'm angry, but I'll be fine."

"Let me know if...well, if anything."

"I will," he said. He wondered if she had any idea how much he appreciated her at that moment, or at any moment. "You're really important to me, Sara," he said suddenly. It seemed important to tell her now. "I really need for you to know that."

"I do." He did not have to tell her. She knew. "You're important to me, too."

"I should hope so," he said, trying to lighten the conversation, "after I bought you ice cream and everything."

She smiled and stared out the window. She was going to miss Nick terribly; he had left a mark on her life and a piece of himself in her heart. She also knew that she was going to be okay. And so would Grissom and Catherine and Warrick and Greg and everyone else, because they carried a piece of Nick with them.

~*~*~*~*~

__

If you were with me tonight   
I'd sing to you just one more time   
A song for a heart so big  
God wouldn't let it live   
May angels lead you in   
Hear you me, my friends   
On sleepless roads the sleepless go   
May angels lead you in


End file.
